


Trying to recognize myself when I feel I’ve been replaced

by quirkyusername



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: (only referenced) - Freeform, Bad Jokes, Bisexual Evan Hansen, Child Neglect, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Jared Kleinman, Homoromantic Connor, Hurt/Comfort, I love Jared but I am Evan, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian Alana Beck, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Past Suicide Attempt, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, but my headcanons are:, other sexualities up to you, pansexual zoe murphy, why do I love tagging so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-04 06:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkyusername/pseuds/quirkyusername
Summary: Jared is not having the best day, but at least his insanely cute boyfriend is there with him.Also, Connor is there too sort of.Trigger warnings: self-harm mentioned/depicted, suicidal thoughts, mentions of past suicide attempt(s), brief panic attack, underage drinking mentioned, internalized homophobia, swearing





	Trying to recognize myself when I feel I’ve been replaced

**Author's Note:**

> I’m going to be honest, I’m not happy with how this story came out. Everyone feels out of character and it goes on for far too long. I also really wanted to write Alana but it would have been actually super long if I did that (I could have made it a chaptered story, but I doubt my lazy ass would ever finish it). 
> 
> But Kleinsen is lacking stories, so I figured I might as well not let this sit in my drafts. Also, I did not read that closely over it because I hate it so tell me if I have any mistakes (other than the entire story)! 
> 
> Connor is alive here btw. I’m pretending he didn’t die because it makes me sad. I didn’t mention any mental health issues of Connor’s because I sort of think that Jared doesn’t really know much about that at this point in time.  

> 
> If anyone has any constructive criticism, please please give it to me. I love writing but I feel like I need some tips on how to make the words actually come out good, ya know?

I honestly think that my teachers are trying to kill me this year. 

I'm trying to live my little old life, and here they are giving me not one, not two, but three tests on the same day? 

Maybe it would've helped if I actually studied for them for longer than 5 minutes, but still! Giving poor defenseless children so much useless shit to memorize and then forget the next day? Despicable. 

I finally finish my last test of the day and I dramatically make my way over to Evan. 

"My teachers are homophobic, Evan." I collapse into his embrace and start fake-sobbing. He isn't very amused and lightly pushes me off of him before speaking. 

"You can't keep saying that everyone's homophobic when something doesn't go your way, Jare."

"I will do what I damn well please, thank you very much. But honestly, three tests in a single day? Let's do the math here. There are 9 periods in a day right? But I also have a lunch, so that doesn't count because there can't be a test then. And gym doesn't count because it only emotionally tests me. So out of 7 classes, 3 of them had a test on this day. Now I calculate, and... carry the two... yeah, basically Jesus hates me." 

Evan lifts one of his eyebrows in suspicion.  
"I thought you were Jewish?"

I throw my arms up in the air.  
"Which is _ why _ 'He' hates me! Geez, Evan, I thought you of all people would understand being hated by Christianity." I can tell by his scowl that he knows I'm referring to ** The Incident. **

****

"I asked you a question about satanism one time and you won't let it go. It was for a project, okay?" He pouts his lips and crosses his arms across his chest. You know, like a baby would do. 

We walk for a few seconds in silence on the way to my locker before I manage to blurt out another complaint. 

"I think I failed all three of these tests today."  
I try to play it off like it doesn't bother me, but school is the one thing I actually am good at, and if I did bad on these tests I'd feel so shitty. 

"Hey, have some confidence in yourself."

"You're right. I am _confident _ that I failed all three of these tests." I give Evan finger guns and we reach my locker. 

"Jared..." Evan frowns at me, and I know that look. The ‘I'm concerned about your mental health and you making dark jokes doesn't ever help you feel better’ look. You'd be surprised how often I see it. I wave off his concern as I shove all the study guides I didn't study into my locker. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say: 'Jared, you're more than your GPA, Jared you're so handsome and dreamy and you're always in my dreams when I—.'"

"Jared!" Evan is surprisingly loud when he says this, and it worries me a bit. Did I go too far with my joking again? Is he going to leave me like everyone eventually does? 

I shake those thoughts away and put the signature annoying smirk back on my face. 

"What, you didn't like my impression? I thought I did a pretty good job, I even got the—."

"You're, you're bleeding. On your, uh, wrist."

I glance down at my left wrist and sure enough, above the cuff of my flannel, there's a small horizontal cut there. I must've cut myself on something in my locker. 

"Oh." I wanted to come up with something snarky to say, but I can't stop staring at the cut. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. My wrist is fucking itching and I can feel the blood under my skin and I just want to see more. 

The blood comes together and falls down my wrist to the white vertical scar that almost ended me. Not that I was necessarily trying to die, I just kept wanting more and more cuts and I was maybe drinking and if I didn't call Evan I would be 6 feet under right now. 

My blood travels farther down my wrist and it reaches my oldest scars, the ones that are barely noticeable anymore. 

And suddenly I'm not my 18-year-old self at school anymore, I'm 12 in my room and my parents are arguing. I have my headphones on at full volume but it still doesn't drown out the noise or my thoughts so I try to draw. Evan said that he does it sometimes when he gets too anxious (and I laughed at him of course), but I try it and the stick figures just remind me that I can't do anything right. I can't be a friend right, I can't be a son right, I can't be a _ human right. _

__

That's when I see my sharpener. 

And I get this twisted idea. 

I try it first on the back of my hand, and I actually am shocked by how much easier it cuts compared to push pins. (I couldn't even leave scars with push pins, I was too fucking weak to even do that.) And then I pull up my sleeve and—

I'm in the school bathroom. My arm is wet, why is my arm wet? What am I doing here? 

Oh. Evan is cleaning my wrist off. I guess I spaced out for a bit, relishing in my prepubescent angst. 

I watch as Evan carefully wipes at the cut with the disgusting brown paper towels that our school has. I look up at his face and admire how adorable he looks when he's focused. 

He glances up at my face and startles a bit. 

"O-oh. I didn't know if you were... with me. How are you feeling?" He pulls my sleeve down gently before throwing the towels out. 

"I mean, I've been better. But it feels pretty nice to have a cute boy taking care of me." I give him a wink and he starts sputtering. I'll never tell him, but I love that he still turns into a blushing mess when I compliment him. 

Honestly, right now I want nothing more than to drive home and rip my flesh open, but I know Evan isn't going to leave me alone to do that. 

"Did... Was the blood a trigger for you?" He starts biting his thumb and almost making direct eye contact with me. 

"God", I scoff at him, "don't use 'trigger', offensive normies ruined that word forever." 

"O-okay, but you know it's okay if you _ were, _ right? Like, I know that you've been clean for a few months, but it's perfectly understandable that you still have bad thoughts sometimes. You're still just as—."

"Just shut the fuck up, okay?" I cut Evan's mother hen speech off. 

Evan hunches in on himself and drops his gaze to the floor. 

Fuck, I messed up again. 

"I didn't mean to snap at you, I just... You know I'm not good at dealing with sappy emotional shit." 

Finally, the truth. Well, perhaps saying that I'm 'not good' with emotional stuff is a _ bit _ of an understatement.

I mean, the only reason Evan knows that I cut myself is because I drunkenly called him after my worst mental breakdown ever last year. 

Yes, it's pathetic that I've had multiple mental breakdowns. And yes, I know that cutting is some girly emo shit, but I'm already gay so I might as well make myself even more of an effeminate outcast. 

Shockingly, I was also drunk and mentally unstable when I came out to Evan. And in a twisted turn of fate, Evan proceeded to come out to me as bi. And then we had a long conversation about feelings and shit. Being gay isn't something I'm necessarily ashamed of anymore, but I definitely would rather not have the assholes at school know. And I especially wouldn't want to put Evan in danger of being hurt because of it (not that I'd ever openly admit that to him). 

So no one knows that we're dating, not even Evan's three— _ our _ three friends: Connor, Zoe, and Alana.

I focus back on Evan and his worried face. Even when he's riddled with anxiety and fear, he's still so gorgeous. I really don't deserve someone like Evan. I don't deserve anyone. 

"Okay. Jare, you don't need to tell me what's on your mind right now, but I think it'd be good if you could at least promise me that you won't do anything dangerous today. But of course I'm not forcing you to do this, it's completely your call. But I think it'd help both of us if you could make the promise." 

I just stand there for a bit, thinking through my options for responding. What kinda of weird ass promise is he trying to get me to make? There's the option of lying, which is looking pretty appealing right now. Then there's the option of running out of the bathroom and doing something dangerous. And there's the option that is the right one to do. 

If I was more emotionally stable, I probably would've lied. Not even necessarily on purpose, it's just a reflex at this point when my defenses are up. I'm trying to fix it, I really am. 

But I'm having a generally shitty day, and now I can't even stop picturing the knives in my kitchen and how easy it'd be to just borrow one because it's not like my parents would ever notice or care. 

"I can't promise that, Ev."_ Nice job, dumbass, guilt him into staying with you. What a selfish dick. I thought you were trying to be better?_

__

"You— oh." He just stares dumbfounded at me, like he was expecting me to lie to him. I can't really blame him for that. 

"Yeah. Well, four months is a new record for me at least. Gotta look on the bright side." 

"Wh— no. I'm not leaving you alone. We're going to do something together today and then after we'll go to my house and watch a romantic comedy on the Hallmark channel—you know, because you like how awful the plots always are and the bad acting—and you're going to be okay. Alright?" He's speaking faster than usual and I can tell that he's panicking. 

I know that Evan doesn't want to leave me alone, but honestly he should. He should probably leave me alone forever. I don't know how he can possibly put up with me, he's too good for me. I don't deserve anything good that I get. 

"Jared, look at me. Please." He slowly puts his hands out to show me that he's going to touch me, then reaches for my face and turns it towards him.  
"You're going to be okay. I'm always going to be with you when you feel like this, but only if you tell me. It's not good to hide how you feel all the time, and I know you know that. Please tell me what you're thinking right now. If you're mad at me tell me, I can get Alana or Connor instead."

I let out a quiet scoff and take a small step back, causing his hands to leave my face.  
"Oh my god, don't get Connor, then I'd _ definitely _ slit my wrists."

"**Jared**." Evan furrows his brows at me, and okay, maybe I shouldn't use my dark humor right now. 

"Sorry, my bad. And no, I'm not mad at you. If anything, it's _ me _ that I'm mad at."

"Why?"

"A better question would be why **not. ** Because honestly there are way more reasons why I'm pissed at myself than not." I can't tell if I want to throw up or cry right now. It's probably both.

"Why? I mean— what have you done that you're mad at yourself about?" Evan takes a few steps closer to me, and I pretend not to notice.

"Well for starters, I can't even deal with a paper cut without wanting to go full emo, and I'm emotionally repressed. Oh, and everyone who I hang out with hates me because I'm a shitty person and a shitty friend and a shitty son, and definitely a shitty boyfriend." I'm starting to fucking cry. I'm so pathetic, maybe he'll take pity on me and just give me the Swiss Army knife that he keeps in his backpack. 

"My day wasn't even awful or anything. There were tests, but I've for sure had worse days than this. No one made fun of me, I didn't embarrass myself in any big way, like actually nothing happened. I don't know why I can't just deal with shit like a normal person. I can't even get diagnosed with anything because my parents don't give enough of a shit to take me seriously, and I can't just be like, 'hey guys, I almost bled out on your fucking fake wooden floor and I think about doing it again every—.'"

Holy shit. Why did I say all of that? I'm such a fucking idiot, he doesn't want to hear me cry about my fake issues and attention-seeking. He's going to leave me and I'm going to be alone again and it'll be what I deserve. I don't deserve Evan; he's so amazing to me and he acts like he doesn't care that I'm such a broken piece of shit who can't even communicate without making jokes. And I'm fucking trying so hard to not do that, but—

I can't breathe. It sounds like there's a distant screaming in my ears and I can't get it to stop. My vision feels contorted, and I can feel my head and heart pounding. I'm shaking and I feel my body sink to the ground but it's like I'm not even there, I'm watching this fucking pathetic boy die in the school bathroom. I notice Evan kneeling down and talking to me, but I can't really hear him. Or maybe I can, but I'm not taking anything in. All I can think is that _ I'm dying and this isn't how I want to go. _ There's a weight on my chest and I can't get it off. Thoughts are being shouted in my head and I can't discern what any of them are saying, but I am sure as hell that it's not good. Fuck fuck okay I need to breathe, that'd be good. Okay what did Evan say helps him? _ I don't know I don't know he hates me why am I alive why did I call him why didn't I just let myself die I should've died I hurt everyone around me I'm disgusting I'm nothing—_

__

** Breathe, you idiot. You can cry about your life when you're out of this pussy episode. **

****

So I focus on breathing slower, and I think of a calming song to drown out the ringing. And after a bit, I am breathing like a normal human. I can feel hands on my shoulders and they ground me and it's like they pull me back into my body. 

And Evan's kneeling in front of me and I actually see him now, and he's just looking at me with sort of sad eyes. But they're the sad eyes that are disguised as happy ones, like the eyes that you would give a kid if they said that their pet dog "went to the magical fire hydrant in the sky". What the fuck am I talking about?

And look, I'm a pretty logic-oriented guy, so obviously I know that panic attacks aren't deadly. But yet for some fucking reason my logic shuts itself off when I'm freaking out, and I just convince myself that it isn't just an ordinary panic attack. That something else is going on and I'm panicking because I'm dying. And for a suicidal person, you'd think that wouldn't even be an issue, right? Like, isn't that what I want? But... I don't know. I just want to die on my own terms if I'm going to die before my time is supposed to be up. 

And I still need to write my suicide note. I've made so many drafts, but they've all been so shitty and just felt so fake. But I guess fake is all I know in my life. I've been faking who I am since I was old enough to realize that 'who I am' isn't great. 

I'm going to give myself another damn panic attack if I keep up these angsty thoughts. 

I focus my eyes onto Evan, and it almost physically tears apart my heart to see this boy look at me like I'm worth something. 

And that's when I make a really depressing realization. What if he's only with me out of guilt?

"You... you've gotta stop panicking on me, that's twice in one day." Evan seems to wince with embarrassment at what he says, and removes his hands from my shoulders. (And I don't want to reach out and pull him into me, I don't.)  
"Shit. That was supposed to be a joke to lighten the mood or something, sorry. I don't know what I'm saying, I'm sort of freaking out." 

"You should leave the bad jokes to me, Treeboy." I try to give him a warm smile, but I'm still not completely back in the 'real world', so it might look a bit hollow. If there's one thing I know about Evan, it's that I have to be clear with him so he knows that I don't hate him.  
"Uh, thanks, Evan for, uh, for staying with me. You know that you don't have to though, right?" 

I didn't mean to blurt out that last part. My brain isn't completely listening to me right now, but then again it never really does. 

"There is no way I'm leaving you alone right now. What are you talking about?" He tilts his head at me, and if I wasn't so emotionally drained I probably would have kissed him. But I can barely even manage to look at him for more than a few seconds at a time right now. 

"I don't want you to be with me just because you'd feel guilty if I did some stupid shit. You know I wouldn't blame you at all. But, like, if you're only with me because you felt bad for this lonely gay cutter, I just need you to know that I wouldn't try to keep you with me. Because I know you might feel like you have to stay with me or else I'll fucking kill myself or something, but—." 

"Stop, please. Just... stop, Jared." I was so caught up in my woeful speech that I didn't even notice Evan basically sobbing. 

I'm not sure why he feels so bad about this. If someone told me that they were in love with me and they happened to be a suicidal mess, I probably would pretend to love them back too. I can't believe I never realized how fucking selfish I've been. 

"I'll be okay, really. I mean, it'll probably hurt a lot to be without you, but I swear I won't kill myself over you leaving me. I know I'm not the best person to be ar—."

"Do you... do you remember when I told you how I actually broke my arm?" 

"Uh, yeah?" I'm not sure what is going on in that brain of his right now, but I'm guessing there's a point to this. 

"After you found out, you kept finding excuses to come over to my house or to hang out with me. You said you just had nothing else to do, but I know that you were worried that I'd try again." Somehow he managed to get closer to me throughout this whole ordeal and I can probably count all of his freckles from here, if I wanted to of course (and if I didn't know what a terrible cliche that was).

"I mean, yeah, I came over 'cause I was worried. I didn't really have anyone else to hang with, so I needed to make sure that I wasn't going to lose the... the one person that actually talked to me (the one person that I actually cared about)." _ Oh my god Jared, you can't even share your feelings with your fucking boyfriend. What kind of fake gay are you if you aren't constantly talking about your feelings? _

__

"Well, for a while, I felt that maybe... maybe you were just hanging out with me because you would feel bad if I— if I killed myself. Like, you just didn't want the guilt of not being there for me, and that's the only reason you talked to me." 

I'm surprised that my eyeballs don't fall out of my head with how wide they were opened. 

"That's fucking insane, how could you have thought that I didn't care about you? Was I really that much of a dick back then? Holy shit. I _was_, wasn't I?"

Evan gently takes my hands in his. "That—that's not the point of what I'm trying to tell you. What I'm trying to say is that I used to feel exactly how you're feeling now: like nobody would notice if you just... you know, disappeared. And sometimes I guess I still do. But eventually I managed to believe that you and everyone else in my life might actually care about me, even with all of my flaws. And I have a lot more good days than bad days now. I'm more than positive that you can do the same. You just have to try to believe that we all care."

I'm not sure if I can convince myself that I really matter to any of my friends, and I sure as hell can't do that with my parents (growing up was filled with homophobic slurs and passive aggressive remarks about my body). 

But maybe... maybe I can trust that Evan actually likes me? 

At least to an extent. I'm sure someone better will come along and he'll cry to me about how he just needs something new, something better. And I'd be the worst person if I didn't let him go. Because honestly, he needs someone who isn't so fucked up and who can deal with their emotions or talk about them. Hell, I can't even talk about them in my head without freaking out. 

"I... Yeah, okay. I can try. To do, uh, you know, believe that people care or whatever." I take a breath in before continuing, keeping my eyes on Evan's shoes.  
"And... sorry. For uh, wasting your time on this." 

"I don't mind, really. Plus, I know you'd do the same for me. And you have, actually."

Evan lets out the most adorable chuckle, and I give him a small smile while I focus on following his breaths. I'm not sure if I'm copying his breathing in case I panic again, or if I just need something to focus on right now. 

We sit there for a bit, comfortable with the silence. And then Evan speaks up again. 

"I'm going to guess that you forgot abo— which is totally fine, I know that bad mental health can really take over your life. Actually, there are studies that claim that depression can actually have a correlation to short-term memory loss. And I know that when I'm having a depressive episode I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast, never mind plans that I made with friends, so I totally get that." Evan seems to just remember at the end of his mental health speech that breathing is necessary for humans to live, and takes a few (dramatic) breaths in. 

I wouldn't normally let him go on this panicked tangent for so long, but I was too busy trying to remember what I supposedly forgot. It wasn't until he started talking about friends that a metaphorical lightbulb went off above my head. 

"Oh! We were supposed to all go the mall after school today, weren't we? Oh shit. Of course this had to be the same day that I had a mental breakdown in a school bathroom." I'm trying to put my confident persona back on, but it's pathetically obvious that it's not working. 

"Don't worry, I already texted everyone that we would meet them in the parking lot in a bit. Zoe said that she would drive us this time if that's okay. I just know that after I have panic attacks, I am really out of it. You can still drive if you want to, though! I'm sure no one would mind. Or we can just go back to my place and relax if you're tired, I can tell them that I don't feel good. It wouldn't bother me."

"Oh, uh, no that's okay, we can go to the mall still. I probably shouldn't drive right now though." 

I feel like it's more normal to be exhausted after a panic attack, but for some reason I more often find myself feeling energized after one. Maybe it's the dissociation, derealization, and depersonalization that create this new guy who is willing to do anything. But I know that it's also dangerous for me to be this way. 

One time, after I had a panic attack at a movie theater, I almost walked in front of a car. I guess my senses weren't really working, and I didn't notice a huge truck speeding through the parking lot. Luckily, Alana noticed my dumb ass strolling along without a care in the world and pulled me back. 

It took a lot of explaining in order for them all to believe that I wasn't trying to die, especially considering how damn apathetic dissociating makes me feel.

It's kind of like a fucked up super power. If I wanted to just stop giving a shit, I could simply force myself into a panic attack. Okay, so maybe not simply, but still. 

"Just tell me when you're ready to leave, alright? You can take however much time you need, I'll wait here with you." He places his hands on my shoulders and softly kisses my forehead. 

I'm not sure if I said this yet, but I love this boy so much. 

I hear the bathroom door swing open and I find myself automatically pulling away from Evan as we both stand up. 

Oh it's Connor. There could have been worse people to see me having a sob fest with Evan. 

And then of course Evan, my dear sweet Evan, freaks out and tries to act casual. 

"Connor, uh, hey! What are you doing here?" He attempts to lean a hand against the wall, but he accidentally hits the hand drier. The loud booming noise takes up the entire room, and it doesn't turn off for a few long seconds. Connor stares directly at Evan with an emotionless gaze. 

I turn away from Evan so he doesn't see me about to burst out in laughter. 

"What am I doing here? It's the bathroom. It's made for peeing, not for sharing sob stories." I hear Connor shift a bit on his feet.  
"But actually, what's going on with you guys, is everything good?" 

I walk up to Connor and give him a very overly-affectionate hug before I compliment him (and no, there is definitely no sarcasm in my voice when I say it).  
"Awe, you really do care! That's sweet, really. I'll be sure to send a card in the mail thanking you for this momentous achievement." 

"Let go, you slimy little weasel." He pushes me off of him with a very dramatic look of disgust. "I was just trying to be a good friend, no need to be a dick about it." 

Connor sounded sarcastic and playful, but I can tell that he's hurt. I don't know if it's because I'm a sarcastic asshole, or if he feels like we're keeping a secret from him. Either way it's my fault, and I feel like I have to do something. 

"We were just doing gay shit." 

How does that help this situation at all, you fucking potato head? 

Connor frowns a bit and I can see Evan tense up (well, tense up more) from the corner of my eye. 

"I don't think it's cool for our token straight friend to use the word gay as an insult." 

Okay, shit. My brain isn't working right. I'm fucking panicking and Evan isn't going to say shit right now. 

"I'm begging you to never refer to me as a hetero ever again."

It takes me a second to realize what I said, and when I do, my eyes go wide and I stare at the same spot on the floor that I've grown fond of today. 

"You... wha... you're _not_ straight?" Connor never stumbles over his words, so I guess I should feel honored that I caused him to do it. 

"I didn't mean that. Just... pretend I didn't say anything." My voice sounds unnaturally quiet when I say that. 

Jesus fucking Christ. Now Connor knows and he's gonna tell Zoe, and Zoe will tell Alana, and then Alana will accidentally tell someone else, and then the whole school will know, and I'll get beat up every day again, and what if they hurt Evan too? What if they find out that we're dating? I have to break up with him, he can't go through that. Fuck, what if my parents find out and I have to live on the streets? Isn't there some shelter nearby for LGBT+ homeless youth? I'm pretty sure there is, I looked it up after I came out to Evan in case he told anyone. 

"Hey, Kleinman, you here with us?" Connor waves his chipped painted nails in front of my face and I manage to push aside my thoughts and look in his eyes. 

"Yeah, I'm here, dude. Uh, yeah, but... So, yeah, I'm g— I mean, I like, uh, guys." I imagine myself taking a shot every time I say 'yeah'. 

I start to ramble more, unsurprisingly.  
"But could you, um, not tell Zoe or anyone about me? I know she wouldn't care, but I just want to, like, do it when I'm ready? I don't know, I know it's fucking pathetic, but I just... I just need some more time." 

Connor gives me the same glassy look that he gave to Evan moments before, and I give him a look that hopefully doesn't show how pitiful I really feel.

And then suddenly he clears his throat, and the sound echoes in the small bathroom. 

"I'm not going to out you, Jared. No matter how much you annoy us all sometimes, you don't deserve that. And..." Connor hesitated before continuing. "You're actually... not that bad of a guy. Don't you dare tell anyone else that I told you that." He gives me an intimidating scowl, but I don't feel very threatened by it. 

I give him a wide grin and wrap my arm around his shoulder (and no, I don't have to go on my tippy toes to do that). 

"Don't worry, _ Connie _ , I wouldn't out you as having feelings. We both have a reputation to protect as unfeeling assholes." Evan finally lets out a breath of relief beside me. 

"What did I say about touching, _ Jarebear? _ " He lets out a sigh, but after a second he leans his head down on my shoulder. 

I hear Evan shuffle his feet closer to us, and as he stands in front of us smiling, I take a moment to relish in the beauty that is this boy. 

I can't believe I got myself a boyfriend. I thought I was going to be a closeted loser that ended up marrying a woman and crying every night. Well, I guess I kinda do the crying thing. But honestly it feels so good to have two people know that I'm gay. It's so hard to have to hold in gay jokes around everyone, so I'm glad that I can share my homosexual comedic genius with others. 

Maybe it'd feel as good if I actually talked about my shitty mental health. I mean, Evan is the only person who even has the slightest clue on all of my insecurities and self-loathing. But I'm not even completely sure what I've told him, since the only times I've talked about it was when I was wasted. 

And of course my wrist starts itching again, so I stop that train of thought. Wow, I really am pathetic, getting triggered by the smallest shit. 

"So." I jump away from Connor as he speaks. "Are you two, like... together?" He wags his finger between us both. 

"Did I not make it clear enough when I told you we were in here doing 'gay shit'? Do I need to be more clear?" I raise my eyebrows and give Connor a suggestive look. 

Evan pushes me lightly with a panicked look on his face. "J-Jared! No we were not, stop!" 

I give the same suggestive look to Evan this time, and I even wink for an added effect.

"You know what? I don't even wanna know what you two were doing. I'll be outside, come out when you're ready." Connor walks towards the door, but pauses and turns back around.  
"I guess that applies to the gay thing too."

I scoff at Connor as he lets out a breathy chuckle. As he swings the door open I remember something. 

"Wait, I thought you had to actually use the bathroom." 

"I am not about to take a piss while you two smash your faces together a few feet away." 

"We— we're not— we weren't even doing that." Evan waves his hands around dramatically before they fall back down to the bottom of his shirt. 

"Just admit it, Murphy: you were worried about Treeboy. You probably texted Evan asking where he was and then you ran all the way to him like some princess running to her knight in shining armor. Did you lose your glass slipper on the way here?" 

My defenses are coming back up. I know that. It's just, the door is opened and what if someone hears what we're saying? And I know there aren't even that many people still at the school right now, but it only takes one person to start a whole wildfire of gossip about the chubby geek being a homo. 

Maybe in the past, Connor would've beat the shit out of me for saying something like that. And you know, I wouldn't even blame him if he did it now. I deserve that and a whole lot more. 

But no. Connor just gives me a lopsided grin as he puts his hands in his hoodie pockets. He moves closer inside the bathroom, letting the door almost close. 

"Im pretty sure Cinderella was running _ away _ from her ‘Prince Charming’. And you know, I have a lot of non-gay-related blackmail against you, Kleinman. Evan showed me a lot of old photos of you guys, including your eighth birthday party."

"I'd rather you out me to the entire state of Texas." 

Note to self: lock all photos of me away in a bulletproof safe. Or better yet, burn them all. 

"What was your eighth birthday party? Was that the one where Mary threw up on you in the bounce house?" Evan decides that it'd be a good time to butt in on this conversation, and he adds a delightful memory to the front of my brain. 

The door closes all the way now, but Connor keeps his hand on the handle. 

"She—what? Oh my god, this is gold." He hunches over in a fit of laughter, and as seconds go by I start to wonder if he is actually breathing. (And wouldn't that be the most ironic way for Panic! At The Connor to die: death by happiness?) But eventually he calms down enough to continue.  
"But, no. I was referring to his... _ pony-themed _ party." 

And of course Evan remembers that party. I mean, he was the only person there besides me and my mom. Maybe kids would have actually come if I tried to talk to anyone besides Evan, but I was stuck to him at the hip back then. 

Okay, so maybe I still am now, but it's not as obvious. Is it?

I come back to Earth and Evan and Connor are sharing more embarrassing stories about me. I make the executive decision to kick Connor out of the bathroom. 

"Weren't you just about to leave anyway? How did we even start talking about my tragically cringey past?" I start to push the emo boy towards the exit. 

"Tragic and cringey pasts are gay culture, baby." Connor gives both of us a smug grin, and Evan replies with a "true". 

Evan gives a small wave as the door closes on Connor's stupid face. 

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in. 

It's not that I don't like Connor, I just really wasn't prepared to come out to anyone today. 

And even though it's nice to feel more open with him, there's some part of me that is afraid that somehow everyone overheard me coming out, and Evan and I will get pummeled by some douchebag jocks. 

"Hey, don't do that." Evan grabs both of my hands and separates them from each other. 

What was I... _ oh. _ I reopened the cut. When did I even pull my sleeve back down? 

"Shit, I didn't know I was doing it." 

Does it count as self harm if I dissociate so much that I don't even know I'm doing it? I wish there was a Dangerous Coping Mechanism Rulebook that I could follow.

"No, it's okay. Sometimes I, like, bite the skin around my nails and it bleeds. But I don't do it because I want it to bleed or hurt or anything, I'm just anxious, you know?" 

"Wait, wait, wait. _ You, Evan Hansen, _ are _ anxious? _ I had no idea."

My sarcasm is met with a quick eye roll and a jab to my side, which is fair.

"But seriously, Jare, you know that I won't ever judge you for anything. If you ever need me, please text me or FaceTime me or even call me. I know how awful someone's mind can get when they're alone, so I'm begging you to find me when you're feeling like this or for any reason." Evan chokes up halfway through. 

Oh my god, and I thought that Connor was an emo bitch. 

Regardless, I grab on tighter to Evan's hands and look up at him. 

"Okay, fine. Jesus. I'll try to do both of the things you asked me to do during my Bathroom Breakdown. But you have to promise that you'll do them too." As I finish speaking, Evan nods in response, and no, I don't watch his hair lightly bounce as he does it. 

"I've already been trying to open up more to you, but I'm sure you noticed that. And I, uh, I am pretty sure that I believe that you really care for me? It's kinda hard not to when you drunkenly showed me a poem you wrote about me from 7th grade." 

"Of course I really care— uh, excuse me? I did what, now?" 

I almost didn't even catch the last part, and now that I think about it, I kind of wish that I never did catch it. In fact, throwing it away would be preferable right now.

"I— I thought you remembered that? Well, obviously you don't. I think that's a story for another time, when we're not in a school bathroom about to go to the mall." 

"Okay, that's understandable I guess. But you're telling me when we're back. My parents are coming back tonight, so I'm taking refuge at your place." Evan knows that's my way of asking to come to his house. 

"Yeah, of course. My mom is actually going to be home later so she can make us something. We can talk about that later though. Are you... are you okay? Do you need more time? You know we can still cancel if you don't want to go. I really don't mind either way." I can feel his palms get sweaty—or I guess sweati_er_— in my hands. 

"You are the cutest person I've ever met in my entire life, holy shit. I mean, uh... I'm fine. Didn't expect to come out, have a panic attack, and consider relapsing all in the same day, but I got my weekly angst quota taken care of at least, so that's something. We should probably go before Zoe and Alana barge in the boys' bathroom too."

Evan lets out a breathy laugh.  
"Yeah, I wouldn't put it past them." 

I let go of his hands and give him the most genuine smile my body can manage. 

"Can, uh," Evan starts, "can I get a kiss for the road?"

I give him a quick peck on his lips, and somehow I am surprised by how I still manage to blush every time I kiss that boy.

Walking out of the bathroom into the school feels like it could make some good metaphor for me starting to open up to others, but I don't think I'm poetic enough to do that. 

So instead of thinking about that, I just look at the boy walking next to me and remind myself that he's seen the worst of me and yet he's still here. 

I don't know how the hell I got so lucky and I am damn sure that I don't deserve any of this, but I'm going to try my best to keep this luck going.

I am not alone. I have someone who seems to care about me. And I don't know why, but he does. He does. If Evan can see something in me that isn't complete shit, then maybe I can find it too. 

It's a small step, but there's some comfort in realizing that maybe there's some good in me. 

And maybe that's enough.


End file.
